


Plot Armor, Meet Poor Choices

by SparksOut



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Also I wrote this with a co author who doesnt have an ao3, But like a cliche paradise, F/M, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, ITS SATIRE OKAY, Intentionally bad on purpose, Mary Sue, Plot Twists, Satire, So many plot twists omg I promise this gets good, Well written and good spelling/gramar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparksOut/pseuds/SparksOut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow Miracle MD, teenage psychopath and general wonderchild. Through a series of events that have nothing to do with plot armor or rich parents, she ends up working for Arkham Asylum. When she meets the joker, what madness will ensue? Will our dashing Mary Sue cast her spell over him too, or will something more dramatic and unforeseen happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plot Armor, Meet Poor Choices

Hello, my name is Miracle Mercy Disavow, and I’m obsessed with psychopaths. I might be one, of course, but that’s beside the point. I was born into money, but I don’t let it go to my head; I’m absolutely not a brat. I’m not a “plastic” like so many girls in my school; oh my god can you believe they wear makeup? Like seriously dude, guys don’t like girls that wear makeup. And pearls; they’re so lame.   
You see, I’m classy. I like to wear fishnets and leather everywhere, even in the hot sun. And also knee length rainbow wigs, because I can’t be too depressing. What do you think I am, some sort of emo or something? Lol, as if. I shop at Spencer’s now, not Hot Topic. I’m too much of an adult for that; my ex affectionately called me “jailbait” but he was just kidding of course. You see, it’s only illegal if your mental age isn’t over 18. I might be just 16, but I think like a 25 year old. While all of the girls in our class were gossiping about boys and turning their faces into pearls, I was reading Edgar Allen Poe. Sure his stories are dark and gory, but that’s what I love about them. Just something about the psychopaths that his stories follow is so exciting!   
For example, after I read the Telltale Heart I sat underneath my sister’s bed all night, waiting to see if she could hear my heartbeat. She never did, and when I asked her if she’d noticed anything that night she just shrugged and said something about the cat. The cat! She tried to play one of Edgar Allen Poe’s greatest stories off as a cat! I got so mad, I stormed up to my room and blasted MCR until the vases on the shelf vibrated. At least, I’m assuming it was MCR-- I had the bass turned up so high that I could barely hear the words.   
It was that night, that fated, hallowed night, that my mother burst into my room, slamming the door off its hinges and yelling at me so loudly that she was audible over the cacophony of MCR and blink-182 playing simultaneously while multitudes of glass objects fell off my shelves. “MIRACLE MERCY DISAVOW, YOU TURN THAT SATANIST CLANGING OFF THIS INSTANT!” she shrieked.   
“Ugh mom, just because it understand my real emotions doesn’t make it satanist. God, baby boomers are so out of touch.” I said, dramatically flinging myself back on my bed amidst a pile of shattered glass. The cuts from the fragments only added to my aesthetic.   
“Oh honey, you know you’re wrong. And you just can’t tell, which is a super duper shame! Anywhoosies, I got you that internship you wanted. Daddy had to ask very nicely, so make sure you treat this one better than the last one. Daddy’s lawyers are still trying to get you out of that silly little felony murder charge.” My mother said, smiling.   
I leapt up off the bed, jumping up and down on the glass-shard-glittery floor, my thigh-high slytherin socks getting all sparkly and making me smile. I looked just like Edward now! “Omg omg omg mom is it at Arkham??? Do I finally get to work with the psychopaths???” I said, almost squealing. But it was more like an emo banshee shriek, because squealing is what lame girls do when they see boys.   
My mother laughed in a dignified way, handing me a gold bracelet with “Miracle, MD” inscribed on it. “Yes of course honey, and you’re actually starting your internship right now. Because why on earth would they put you through training or require you to spend time with less dangerous patients before sending you up to dealing with psychopaths? Oh my lordy, now that would just be a plain ole waste of time.” My mother sat down on the bed I had recently vacated, seeming unfazed by the glass or gently smoking speakers. “They know you’re a super special little girl, so they’re willing to send you right to the top. Now, make daddy proud.” She said, patting me on the shoulders. “And if you could do something to make that worthless father of yours happy next time he bothers to show up sober enough to hold a conversation, that’d be great too. But don’t waste too much time on it, we all know how he is.” She said, with a knowing smile towards the closet.   
I gave another dignified banshee shriek, and raced over to my dresser. I needed to be the picture of maturity and sophistication, but I also didn’t want to seem like all those other doctors who had tried for so long to get the psychopaths to be their friends. Man, no psychopath is gonna trust a loser in a lab coat; they’re all super smart, they know you at least have to have style, duh. And not “makeup and pearls” style because dude that’s so lame but like, actual edge. Like taping knife blades to your fingers like kitty claws. Sadly, because of the pending murder investigation I had had all of my kitty claws confiscated. Ain’t that just the pits, I thought, sighing.   
I decided on a red corset that laced up in the front, and a black spider web tutu over white leggins with “Daddy” written all over them in a cursive font. To add the last edge of sophistication I added a cat hoodie over it, and made sure the ears were properly sitting on my head. I tied my hair into a bun and pulled a bald cap over it, before slipping on a jet black, mid-back length wig. I lightly added black to my eyes, to echo my soul, and blood red lipstick. I briefly considered breaking into my stash of organic blood red lipstick, but decided that might be a tad bit too much for the first day. I had to keep some things for tomorrow, of course.   
I skipped down to one of our luxury cars, Maserati or some lame brand like that, and told the butler to take me to Arkham. I’m just a little bit salty that I didn’t get to take our helicopter over, but again, something for tomorrow. Also I think daddy’s using it at the moment, not sure why though.   
I stared out the darkly tinted windows, watching drops of water roll down the window. I almost asked the butler to change the song, because it was some preppy hipster nonsense playing, but I decided against it. I had to get used to thinking in new ways, cause despite the fact that I had a lot in common with these psychopaths, which I know despite the fact that I’ve never met them, they are just oh so clever. My butler stopped the car and I practically leaped out of the door, almost forgetting to open it first (daddy would have been very mad about yet another broken door), and bouncing up and down on my four-inch stilettos. Yes, a little on the short side, but something for tomorrow. The creak of the doors as we entered into the lobby of Arkham almost avoided being creepy, my excitement building with the scent of formaldehyde and bleach. When I met the eyes of the pretty blonde doctor heading down the hall, it felt like home.


End file.
